


Whenever I Want

by Rhaized



Series: Adventures of Mary and Marisa [16]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But Mary is wonderful, F/F, Feelings Realization, How can she resist Mary?, Marisa has commitment issues, Marisa is kind of scared, Marisa likes to have control, Our science gfs (or not but still), it's complicated - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29697009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhaized/pseuds/Rhaized
Summary: “I can walk away whenever I want,” Marisa told her daemon, sipping her mocha cappuccino and going back to her reading. The golden monkey simply stared at her, frowning ever so slightly. But she ignored him, as she did, and buried herself in her work.—or—A few months into Mary and Marisa's entanglement, Mary has to travel to America to give a special keynote at a physics conference.Marisa isn't joining her, and though she doesn't want to realize it, she will miss Mary terribly.
Relationships: Marisa Coulter & Marisa Coulter's Daemon, Marisa Coulter/Mary Malone
Series: Adventures of Mary and Marisa [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073954
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Whenever I Want

“I’ll be gone for about ten days,” Mary was saying, her breathing heavy as she wrangled her suitcase to try and get it to close.

Marisa merely tisked at her as she sat down on the bed nearby. She’d  _ tried  _ to teach Mary how to pack her clothes properly, demonstrating how to roll her shirts and explaining that all heavy items like trousers and sweaters needed to go on the bottom most layer, but Mary had insisted she knew what she was doing and it worked out every time for her. Yet here she was, struggling to close her little carry on (since she refused to pay extra for a regular-sized suitcase) and practically sitting on it to get it shut. It was so uncouth and disorganized. Marisa could hardly stand it. Mary had no right to pack her bag like that and then dare to  _ pout  _ about it. 

“Yes, that’s what your itinerary says,” Marisa replied, her tone light and casual as she continued to watch Mary struggle. She knew she should probably go over and try to help, offering to hold the suitcase down as Mary grabbed the zipper, or maybe even take the high road and go and re-fold Mary's clothes herself. But she wanted Mary to understand the consequences of her decisions. She wanted her to flail around a bit, to work herself up into a sweat and to realize that Marisa had been  _ right. _

Mary didn't respond immediately. Marisa watched as she stood up to stare at the suitcase a moment, looking at every side of it as if she were measuring an opponent. It was entirely ridiculously, yet Marisa felt her lips twitch up into an almost-smile. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Mary stopped her assault after a couple more minutes to look over at Marisa then. Her blue eyes—as clear as any summer sky Marisa had ever seen—were so soft as they considered her. They were warm and comforting, too, like a tight embrace or a snugly-fit sweater. 

“Of course I will be,” Marisa scoffed immediately, letting out a little puff of air. She shifted her gaze from Mary back down to the suitcase, which still sat stuffed with clothes and traveling supplies literally overflowing from the brim. She would be gone for ten days, almost two weeks. She should really pay for a larger suitcase. 

“It’ll be the longest we’ve been apart,” Mary said then, quietly. The golden monkey lifted his head up at that from his perch next to Marisa on the bed, where he had lazily been lounging and watching them.

Marisa scolded in her mind for him to be quiet and to do nothing, to not ooze every feeling she may or may not have. She steeled herself, too, as something  _ strange  _ coursed through her body at Mary’s mention of it. The golden monkey felt it, too. “I suppose so, yes.”

Mary was quiet as she continued to stare at her, eyes still soft but now flecked with something  _ else.  _ Was that sadness, Marisa wondered, as she turned to look at her again. Or  _ pity?  _ Marisa felt a surge of indignation fill her then, at this woman—this  _ short  _ woman, this  _ wildly-dressed  _ woman who couldn’t even  _ pack a suitcase _ —dared to  _ pity  _ her.

_ That’s not pity,  _ the monkey thought gently, and even though Marisa knew deep down that he was right, she still stiffened. She felt herself close off at the thought and at the prospect of it. She felt the walls shoot up, as if they'd never been lowered in the first place. 

“I’ll be able to get a lot of work done,” she said next, not waiting for Mary to respond. “Probably stay a little later at the lab, maybe meet up with some of our colleagues for drinks.”

“Sounds like you’ve already got an entire agenda planned with me gone,” Mary chuckled, although as Marisa watched her go back to wrestling with her suitcase, she thought she looked a little different.  _ Deflated,  _ somehow.

“I certainly do,” Marisa sighed importantly, busily, as if she had too much on her mind. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m going to go make some coffee.”

Marisa didn’t check on Mary again before she headed off to work. She wasn't leaving for another day and needed to go to campus to print out some materials and check on some lab work before leaving. It was Marisa's day to work from home with her reading and her writing, so she simply nodded to Mary as she came into the kitchen, keys jangling, announcing that she was going to get going now. 

_ Don't you think you're being a little unfair?  _ her daemon asked her an hour later, watching her carefully from across the table. She didn't spare him a look as she brushed away his thoughts.

"Stop being so sensitive," she chided him, turning the page of her book. "We're all adults here."

_ We are,  _ he agreed,  _ which means you should probably stop acting like some moody school girl and come to terms with your feelings.  _

"My feelings?" she snorted, rolling her eyes. "Please. Don't make this more than what it is."

_ But isn't it?  _ he pressed, inching a little closer to her.  _ Aren't you…attached? _

Her eyes snapped to his then, ablaze with a certain fire and resentment she didn't realize had been brewing up inside of her. 

“I can walk away whenever I want,” Marisa told her daemon, sipping her mocha cappuccino and going back to her reading. The golden monkey simply stared at her, frowning ever so slightly. But she ignored him, as she did, and buried herself in her work. 

When Mary came home later that afternoon, she made Marisa a little uncomfortable. 

"I'll really miss you." 

Mary said it suddenly, at least what Marisa thought was suddenly. They were eating dinner—Chinese takeout—and drinking wine, as they usually did during a busy week. The air was still tense around them, charged with things said and unsaid. And  _ this  _ was enough for everything to come grinding to a halt. 

"That's sweet," Marisa replied promptly, a practiced smile in place as she glanced over at Mary and then turned back to her eggroll.

Mary hummed at that, and though Marisa wasn't looking at her, the golden monkey was. He saw the redhead continue to gaze at Marisa long after Marisa had looked away, a strangled sense of endearment and doubt nestled on her face. 

_ What was she doubting?  _ Marisa vaguely wondered, pivoting the conversation instead to an article she'd read earlier about a controversial claim in the field. Mary went with it, asking Marisa to elaborate more on what the author had said and then offering her opinion, but something still seemed off. Something was different. 

Marisa wouldn't ask Mary about it, of course. And she wouldn't let it bother her. They weren't  _ girlfriends _ . And Marisa was  _ not  _ attached. She wasn't invested. They weren't dating, even as Marisa stayed over every night because she had nowhere else to go and Mary's bed was warm and fluffy and safe. 

"It'll be strange not sleeping with you by my side," Mary murmured later that evening as she snuggled down next to Marisa, their elbows brushing ever so slightly as they tended to do. Marisa mumbled a noise of acknowledgement, although she felt herself suddenly feel stiff and tight. The golden monkey felt it, too, and crept a little closer to her, his thoughts never able to escape her. 

_ You'll miss her presence, too,  _ he offered.  _ You don't remember what it's like to sleep alone.  _

_ Nonsense,  _ she threw back, turning on her left side so that she was entirely removed from Mary and closer to the wall and the bookshelf than any other living being. 

They had to wake up very early in time for Mary's flight. She'd booked a 5am flight so that by the time she reached the east coast it'd only be 8am. She would try to sleep on the plane, too, so that she could meet with people at the conference for a little bit. It was different, when you were the keynote speaker. Everyone wanted to talk to you and learn from you. It was a true honor, and not one that Mary took lightly. 

"Mary," Marisa whispered as the alarm went off. It was 1:30am. They had to get up and moving for Marisa to take Mary to the train station in time to check in for her flight. It was dreadfully early, and they'd gone to sleep later than they initially planned, but they had no choice but to wake up now. 

But Mary was still soundly asleep beside Marisa, her hair a mess of frizzy curls pointing every which way and her shoulders so relaxed and rounded as she lay on her right side. She wasn't a morning person. Never was. Especially not if it was  _ this _ early.

"You need to wake up now, Mary," Marisa tried again, moving to gently shake her shoulder. After a few more tires and increased pressure, Mary's eyes finally opened, albeit slowly. 

"What time is it?" 

"It's 1:38. We need to get going."

"Did I sleep through the alarm again?!" 

"You sure did."

"Gosh!" Mary let out, lifting her head up and rubbing at her eyes. She still looked so sleepy. "I'd be lost without you, Marisa. I have to stop oversleeping like this."

As they both crawled out of bed to get ready, Mary fixing herself up in the bathroom and Marisa making them a quick pot of coffee and bite to eat, Mary's words kept reverberating across her mind. 

_ I'd be lost without you, Marisa.  _

Again and again they rattled Marisa's brain, like a set of wind-chimes caught in a storm. And each time it happened and Marisa heard the gentle and sincere inflection of Mary's voice, the more uneasy it made her feel. 

_ You can't escape it,  _ her daemon thought to her. He was still in the bedroom, waiting outside the bathroom door for Mary. He much preferred her in the mornings, since she was more cuddly and slow whereas Marisa woke up prepared to launch forward at full speed.  _ You care. You're attached.  _

_ I am not,  _ Marisa insisted, shaking her head and making the voice stop echoing. She stirred sugar and milk into her coffee so fiercely that it splashed out at the sides. Marisa let out a frustrated sigh before grabbing a paper towel to wipe it, turning her attention to the toast popping out of the toaster. 

It was quiet as Marisa drove Mary to the train station, her stuffed carry on and backpack in the backseat next to the monkey. 

"Have you got everything?" Marisa said after a while, her thumbs drumming against the steering wheel. "Passport, Oxford badge, conference papers?" 

"Yep," said Mary, voice low and still flecked with drowsiness. "It's all in the front side of my backpack."

"Good," Marisa replied, looking straight ahead of her at the uncharacteristically dead traffic of the early morning. Oxford was always busy, and there were always people mulling about. But at this hour, it felt so  _ empty.  _ And lonely. 

"Everything except you, that is."

The comment caught Marisa completely off guard. 

"Come with me," Mary said then. There was something about the tone of her voice that made Marisa's throat tighten. There was a hint of a  _ plea _ in there, the precursor to a  _ whine. _ Marisa squirmed in her seat, even, as she kept her eyes on the road and Mary's voice again crashed through her mind. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Marisa said calmly, keeping her voice as neutral as she possibly could. "I haven't got a plane ticket."

"I'll buy you one at the gate," Mary said instantly, without even pausing to think. 

"I don't even have a  _ passport,  _ Mary," Marisa countered more hotly than she intended. It was silent again as they kept driving, the monkey's eye boring into Marisa's head from the back and all kinds of emotions radiating from Mary next to her. 

Marisa couldn't handle it. This wasn't her sort of thing— _ feelings.  _ Her own or anyone else's. It was her fatal flaw with Lyra, she realized now all this time later. Not considering or nurturing other people's feelings enough. It was hard for her. It wasn't easy or natural like it was for others, for  _ Mary.  _ It wasn't impossible, Marisa could only presume, but it was hard and it was difficult and this was  _ precisely  _ why Marisa had told Mary she wasn't in a position to become too involved with her. She didn't  _ do  _ this, the caring and the fussing and the doting and the devoting. Marisa couldn't give that to Mary. Marisa didn't  _ want  _ that from Mary, either, really. 

Yet here she was: driving Mary to the train station for her conference only to return to Mary's home— _ their  _ home, as it had started to feel and as Mary had started to refer to it—stewing with  _ feelings  _ and  _ emotions  _ that she didn't even know she could  _ experience. _ She worried about Mary reaching London in time and hoped that the plane wouldn't be delayed. She wished for Mary to sleep peacefully on the ride out west to North America, and she wondered if she'd have wifi on the plane and if she would be able to instant message her. She wondered how busy she'd be and if she'd be able to call and how long she'd go in between hearing from her. 

They drove along in further silence, strained and stifling. Marisa felt most stifled by the golden monkey, whose thoughts and stance on the matter seemed to seep into their very soul:  _ she was attached.  _

Mary cleared their throat when Marisa pulled up at the train station, putting the car in park and turning on the hazard lights. It was still dark out so the monkey didn't bother to hide as Mary opened the door to grab her bags. 

"Take care of yourself, little fella," she sang to him, her eyes crinkling as she smiled at him softly. Marisa felt his waves of adoration and satisfaction, and the concurrent pangs of sadness knowing that he wouldn't see her for several days. 

Once Mary had her backpack squarely in her shoulders and her carry on rested on the cement, she closed the back door and then came to stand in front of the driver's window. 

"Well, this is me," Mary said dreamily, her eyes twinkling and her lips curving into an amused smile. She was ever the light-hearted one, turning to humor and jokes at almost any occasion. 

"This is you," Marisa returned, smiling herself.

Silence greeted them again, as it had the past twenty four hours. Neither of them said anything as they looked into each other's eyes, both searching for something they couldn't see, that maybe didn't exist. Marisa finally was the one to look away, turning to look down at the steering wheel as she adjusted her seatbelt. She heard Mary sigh, light and long, and then tap on the top of the door before moving away. 

After about thirty seconds, however, Marisa surprised herself. 

"Mary?" Marisa called as Mary grabbed her carry on by the handle and began to head forward. The woman simply looked back, eyes perked but shoulders still pointed ahead toward the station. Waiting yet already gone. 

"I'll really miss you," Marisa said, not as loudly as she perhaps should but loud enough that Mary could hear. 

Mary's eyes softened then, almost at once. They flashed with such a surge of tenderness. She turned fully back around and made the few steps back to the car window, leaning her head to brush her lips lightly against Marisa's. 

"I know you will," she whispered, amusement creeping back into her tone as she pulled away to gaze at Marisa, her eyes scanning her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her ears, her lips, her chin—everywhere all at once. 

_ I can walk away whenever I want,  _ Marisa repeated to herself, watching Mary drag her bag behind her and then exit into the train station, the doors closing behind her.  _ I am not attached.  _

**Author's Note:**

> I just love them 🥺 and my oh my is Marisa COMPLICATED. It's refreshing to write from her POV here, when I write so often from Mary's, because it's almost like she herself doesn't even see/realize what is happening and is guessing and seeing it play out right along with us. She's the most complex and intriguing character I've ever written (and I love her for that).
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading 😊 I'd been playing around with the idea of attachment for a while (and had other drafts of different things), so I'd love to hear what you think!


End file.
